


Sunset

by luckjustkissedyouhello



Series: Rollercoastermoon's Whumptober 2020 Fics [3]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Police Brutality, Sammy Whump, Vomiting, Warning for extreme homophobia, Whumptober 2020, ep 73, i kinda triggered myself writing this, mentions peas the cat's death, prompt: manhandled, sammy's self esteem issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckjustkissedyouhello/pseuds/luckjustkissedyouhello
Summary: In the dim light of the station parking lot, Sammy can see hatred in Gunderson’s eyes. ‘This is gonna hurt,’ Sammy thinks.
Relationships: Ben Arnold & Sammy Stevens
Series: Rollercoastermoon's Whumptober 2020 Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946800
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings on this one, kids. I'm not joking when I say writing this almost triggered me, as a member of the LGBT+ community. So the warnings are in these notes, skip the rest if you don't want spoilers for the fic. 
> 
> Gunderson is his typical homophobic self. He uses the f-slur and queer as a slur, advocates for violence against LGBT+ folks, including suggesting that parents should beat their LGBT+ kids straight. His murder of Peas is also mentioned, though not in graphic detail there is talk about cleaning it up. He physically assaults both Sammy and Ben - Ben is in handcuffs at the time, and Sammy is aware of how his position as the Sheriff means Sammy can't fight back - in other words, this is 100% police brutality, and you should avoid reading this if that is triggering to you.

"The sunrise, the sunsets, you're hopeful and then you regret"  
Bright Eyes – Sunrise, Sunset

Sammy’s heart is in his throat as he ditches his headset and runs after Ben and fucking Gunderson. He leaves the mics, for once in his career (hah, as if he has one of those anymore) he doesn't care about dead air. Ben is in danger. He can hear him sobbing and muttering insults and threats to Gunderson as the sadistic bastard ushers Ben down the tiny hallway and out the door. 

He has a moment of clarity as he runs, thinking he needs to protect Ben, be able to prove Gunderson took him. Recordings of their broadcasts go missing with disturbing regularity. He pulls out his cellphone and opens the camera, turning on the video as he goes. It slows him down a moment or two extra, but Sammy makes it outside just in time to see Gunderson intentionally slam Ben’s head into the cruiser’s door while shoving Ben into the car. Ben cries out, a shocked, pained sound hit sets off _all_ Sammy’s protective instincts. 

“Watch your head there, Benny-Boy,” Gunderson says and closes the door.

Ben doesn’t sit up, he must decide to stay laying on the seat. Sammy hopes that Ben isn’t knocked out or concussed, that he’s not going to die from a head injury in the company of a sadist cop who watched entirely too many John Wayne movies during his formative years.

Earlier, when Gunderson twisted his arm up behind his back and used a handful of his hair to wrench his head back to get Sammy to let him in the station, Sammy let it go, wrote it off as Gunderson being a prick, but a bit of pulled hair and a twisted arm was nothing compared to what the fucker did to poor Peas, to Ben. So Sammy didn’t tell Ben in the moment how Gunderson got him to stop dialing Troy and let him in. It was nothing. Manhandling him was one thing. But seeing Gunderson abuse a handcuffed and docile Ben...it’s too much. Too much cruelty disguised as law enforcement. Especially after seeing the pictures (when the fuck, how the fuck, why the fuck did Gunderson print them out, the psychopathic fuck!) of what he did to poor Peas...Sammy sees red and charges at the sick fuck.

Which...isn’t his best plan, running at sadistic fuck of a Sheriff unarmed, but Sammy’s blind with rage. Logic left him the second Gunderson put his hands on Ben, or maybe before that when he showed the pictures of poor Peas. Gunderson spins to face him and sudden pain erupts in Sammy’s right thigh. Sammy only just manages to keep on his feet, doubling over and dropping his phone to clutch at his leg. 

“Son of a bitch,” Sammy swears through gritted teeth, seeing, for the first time, the nightstick in Gunderson’s hands. He forces himself to stand back up, to glare eye to eye at the bastard. 

In the dim light of the station parking lot, Sammy can see hatred in Gunderson’s eyes. ‘ _This is gonna hurt_ ,’ Sammy thinks. He can’t hit back or he risks being arrested himself. It won’t matter that Gunderson is a sadistic cretin of a man - it hasn’t mattered for years that Gunderson is a thug with a badge and a fake cowboy act - Sammy will be arrested and treated to the same unfair process Ben will be. Or, even worse, the bastard could take it out on Ben down at the station. Maybe...maybe if he’s lucky he’ll pull enough of Gunderson’s focus onto him, satisfy the Sheriff’s sadistic desires, and by the time Ben is alone with the sadistic fuck in an interrogation room, those urges will be dulled. It’s a thin, distant hope at best. But it’s the only silver lining he can see: the more he’s getting his ass kicked, the less Ben is being hurt. Sammy realizes this all, accepts that he’s about to take a beating in the time it takes for Gunderson to raise the nightstick and swing it into Sammy’s gut.

“Fuck!” Sammy gasps out, knees buckling. He hits the cracked asphalt, arms wrapping around his middle. 

“Watch your filthy, cock-sucking mouth,” Gunderson growls as Sammy tries desperately to not puke on Gunderson’s boots. Sammy thinks that would end _very_ badly for him. 

Before he can even think of defending himself, Gunderson’s got him by the hair, fist wrapped around Sammy’s bun, and uses it to haul Sammy up to his feet. One dizzying, violent motion later, Sammy’s slammed, face down onto the hood of the cruiser. Sammy can see into the vehicle through the windshield. Ben isn’t sitting up, isn’t watching this, is probably curled up on the seat, as far as Sammy can tell. It’s a relief.

Sammy’s moment of relief is cut short by Gunderson striking him across his ass with the nightstick. Only then does he realize that the bastard is trying to cause maximum pain with minimum lasting damage, hitting him in places with enough padding from muscle or fat to prevent a broken bone. Sammy bites out a curse, unable to hold it back in at the blow. That earns him another strike, and a third when he curses after the second as well. 

Gunderson chuckles when Sammy grits his teeth against a third curse. He’s still got his hand in Sammy’s hair, nails digging into his scalp. He leans forward, putting most of his weight on Sammy, keeping him trapped, as if the power of the badge on Gunderson’s chest wasn’t enough. 

“Listen to me very carefully, you intruding, uppity fucking faggot,” Gunderson growls into Sammy’s ear. 

Something in Sammy _snaps_ at the slur. He hears himself shout “Fuck you,” as he tries to push himself up off the hood. He doesn’t have enough leverage, but he doesn’t stop trying. 

Not until Gunderson changes his grip on his nightstick so he’s holding it with the side handle sticking out and drives it into Sammy’s back in two brutal kidney shots that turn Sammy’s knees to jelly and saps the fight out of him. He’d slide to the ground if it weren’t for the other man’s weight pinning him against the cruiser. Another pleased chuckle in his ear and his other kidney gets the same treatment. Sammy can’t keep his cry of pain behind his teeth, though he tries, Jack-in-the-Box Jesus does he try. He doesn’t want to give Gunderson the satisfaction, but it _hurts_. 

Gunderson sighs theatrically. “I told you to sit down and stay at your microphone, _Shotgun_. But you didn’t listen to me and now here we are. Are you going to be a good little fag and listen now?”

Sammy doesn’t answer. The side handle pushes into the very spot the kidney strike landed on his right side - Gunderson’s threat unspoken but clear. Still. Sammy holds in his response until the pressure is so much he breaks and cries out, then he nods, ashamed of himself. 

“Use your words, Sam-I-Am. I know you know some that aren’t cuss words or divisive drivel. Tell me: are you ready to listen?”

“Yes,” Sammy answers through clenched teeth.

“Good boy,” Gunderson says, but he doesn’t stop digging the side handle into Sammy’s kidney, doesn’t let up off of the excruciating pressure. “As I was trying to say, before you so rudely interrupted me: I want you to listen to me, and listen to me good, son. This is your only warning before I get mean. Understand?”

The pressure on the side handle increases. Sammy makes a pathetic whimpering sound of pain and nods. “Yeah,” he forces out, a moment later because he realizes Gunderson wants him to speak. He hates himself for giving in so quickly. The pressure lessens just a bit. 

“Good.” Gunderson drawls. “I need you to understand this, Sam. I’m done playing with you and your pals. I’m tired of you. If I had my way, I’d’ve run your faggot ass right out of town when you got here and immediately started causing trouble. You’re a blight on my town, _Shotgun_ , an outsider who doesn't belong, never belonged here. In fact, if I had my way, your kind, you rainbow loving queers, would all be taken outback and shot like the diseased dogs you are.”

Sammy’s not sure if he’s struggling to breathe because of the weight of the man leaning on his back, pressing him to the hood, the repeated attacks on vital organs, or the emotional distress of it all. It doesn’t matter, in the end. Because he’s gasping for breath, nails scrambling against the cruiser’s hood. There’s no escape. Not without Sammy attempting to hurt Gunderson - he can’t just slither out of the man’s hold. Even if it wouldn’t be dangerous for Ben if Sammy tried, he suspects that Gunderson would win the fight, given that Sammy doesn’t think he can stand up anymore. But Jack-In-The-Box Jesus does he want to _try_. Sammy tries to move his hips forward, away from the eye-watering pressure on his kidney. Gunderson growls and suddenly the pressure against his kidney is gone. His knees buckle, he’d fall if it weren’t for Gunderson pressing him to the hood of the cruiser. Sammy could cry with relief, though he knows it’s probably not a good thing that Gunderson’s pulled the nightstick back.

Sammy gathers himself, gets his knees to lock again. It seems like the very second he does, Gunderson strikes. This time it’s three rapid blows to the backs of Sammy’s thighs. Sammy barely swallows back his scream. Then the damn side handle is back, this time pushing into his kidney on his left side. 

“I’m not allowed to do that, sadly,” Gunderson goes on as if he didn’t just stop to dole out more abuse. “The more liberal types in our fair town think you deserve a happy life no matter what disgusting places you put your filthy dick or allow someone to put theirs in you. Those folks think you should be allowed to exist anywhere you want to. I disagree wholeheartedly. I’d let it go if you were at least a decent citizen, but you very much are not. You’re rabble-rousing and campaigning against this town has gone on for too damn long.”

Sammy’s never been called a rabble-rouser by a member of law enforcement before. If he wasn’t currently bent over the hood of a Sheriff's cruiser, his best friend presumably having a serious mental breakdown in the back seat, Sammy would be proud. Instead, he’s just in pain and hating himself.

Gunderson continues on: “I want you to get to May without sticking your goddamn nose in any more of the town’s business, and then I want you gone. Or I’ll do what your Daddy should’ve done if he loved you, and beat the queer out of you myself. See if there’s anything left in ya that’s worth existing after that. And then I’ll ruin your tiny buddy’s life. I’ll make what happened tonight look like a pleasure cruise compared to what will happen to him. Understood?” 

Tears sting Sammy’s eyes, tears of impotent rage and self-hatred. He nods. It earns him another shot from the nightstick’s side handle. Sammy’s pretty sure he’s going to be pissing blood for a month. He wants to say ‘fuck you’ to Gunderson. But he knows better. Knows he can’t win. Can’t save Ben anymore than he could save Jack. But at least maybe he can lessen Ben’s pain a bit.

“Yeah. Understood,” he answers, voice hoarse with pain and trapped rage. He’s not sure which direction that rage is pointed - outward at Gunderson or inward at himself for being such a coward.

Gunderson claps him on the back of his head. Sammy hates himself for the way he flinches. “Good boy,” Gunderson drawls.

He uses his hand that’s in Sammy’s hair to pull him off the hood, toss him to the side, away from the cruiser. Sammy lands on his ass and yelps, rolling onto his side to get off his bruised backside. His back revolts at the swift movement. He’s vomiting up bile before he realizes he’s going to, luckily he doesn’t taste blood (and what does it say about his life that he does know what it tastes like to puke blood?). Sammy stays there, propped up on his elbow, watches Gunderson get in the car and leave.

Once the Sheriff's cruiser is out of the parking lot, Sammy collapses backward, laying there on the asphalt next to a puddle of his own puke. He’s crying, hates himself for the pathetic whimpering sobs that keep clogging out his throat, the gasps for breath he can’t control. He can’t control anything, can’t save or protect anyone like he should. If only he were a stronger, better man. One who didn’t fold under the pressure of a few strikes from a nightstick and cruel words from a fake cowboy Sheriff. The fear of jail didn’t stop Ben from avenging his poor pet. Ben deserves a best friend so much stronger than Sammy fucking Stevens. 

He’s not sure how long he lays there, choking on sobs and his inability to do anything, to be the man Ben needs, the man _Jack_ needs. Hell, he’s once again failed to be the man some people in King Falls mistakenly believe him to be. Instead, like always, he was a weak, pathetic coward. He’s a failure and the people of King Falls, Jack, Ben...they’re all paying for it.

Only when he finally forces himself to sit up (and nearly drops back to the ground at the pain that shoots across his lower back, but he rides it out - he deserves it, after all) and sees his phone on the asphalt does he remember: _Troy_.

Sammy crawls to the phone, unable to stand up (and wow, he didn’t think he could feel more pathetic, but yeah...there it is), stops the video recording and dials with trembling hands - all of him is shaking. It goes right to voicemail. Troy’s home phone just rings and rings. Another friend Sammy failed to protect tonight. 

He always fails. He just hopes his incompetence didn’t get Troy killed. 

He forces himself off the ground and into the station, apologizing woodenly for the dead air, and putting on a best of. Then he’s limping out to his car, afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to town. But he can't hide like a little bitch until it blows over. He needs to find out the damage, find out how badly his failure fucked Troy (and, god damn it, possibly Loretta too). He needs to get to Ben’s and clean up what Gunderson did to Peas, so Ben doesn’t have to. By the time he’s done with that, it should be time to bail Ben out. 

Sammy’s shaking so hard he doesn't think he should be driving a car. Just sitting in the seat, and the act of pulling on his seatbelt (tempting as it is to just drive without one, aim his Prius at a tree halfway down the mountain, Sammy knows he can’t - Ben needs him tonight - or his luck, he’d just fuck it all up and wind up just fucking up his car), makes his back scream at him, fresh cold sweat break out on his skin. He clenches his hands on the steering wheel until the dizzy, hot feeling passes. He doesn't have a choice, he needs to try and at least clean up some of the destruction he’s helped cause tonight. He’s got aspirin in the glovebox. He chews and dry swallows four of them, hopes it’ll be enough to get him through the next few hours. He failed to protect Ben, Troy. The least he can do is clean up the mess. 

He never tells Ben what happened between him and Gunderson. Sammy hesitantly asks what happened after Gunderson got him in the cruiser - telling Ben he saw Gunderson hit his head on purpose - and Ben admits that he doesn’t quite remember anything between seeing the picture of Peas and getting fingerprinted down at the station. It was all lost in a haze of anger and sorrow. Sammy adds the relief he feels at hearing this to the ‘Reasons Sammy Steven is an Awful Prick’ list he keeps mentally. The list seems to be growing each day he spends alive and in King Falls. 

Thankfully Ben has no other injuries that Sammy can see, that he’ll admit to when Sammy flat out asks. Sammy decides not to push - Ben seems so fragile when Sammy bails him out later that day. Sammy is relieved thinking about the bruises already blossoming on his own skin, the idea of Ben being covered in similar marks makes him almost physically ill. He hides the bruises, makes up a lie about hurting his back cleaning up the mess Gunderson left in Ben’s apartment when Ben asks him, a few days later, why he’s moving so stiffly. It’s a risk, he might make Ben feel guilty for it, but Ben smiles fondly and calls him an old man (Sammy still adds it to the list, lying to Ben). He lends Sammy a heating pad that actually does offer some relief.

He pisses blood for a week.

**Author's Note:**

> This one was all hurt, no comfort. Look out for the sequel on Day 7 that will include some comfort for Sammy. 
> 
> Also, fuck Jud Gunderson. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
